


Natural

by cold_flame



Category: Glee
Genre: Childhood, Drama, Gen, Mentions of Character Death, Perfectionism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 08:09:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1462060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cold_flame/pseuds/cold_flame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was almost as if she was right behind him, her long auburn hair thrown over her shoulder, and her slender fingers resting on his, guiding him along as he played the only song he ever memorized. The simple one that she used to play every night as he fell asleep.</p><p>“You’re a real natural, Kurt,”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural

**April 20, 2001**

It was in the evening after dinner that he watched her, only today was different. He had always been fascinated by the way she could go from slamming down on to the keys so hard his ears would pop, to just barely lifting her fingers at all, the music gentle and soothing. He watched the way her eyelids would close during the slow songs, her long eyelashes caressing her cheek, and the way her lips would curve slightly upward, lost in the moment, as if no one was there at all. It was like a nightly routine for them. She would play that same song every night on their old piano, and Kurt would watch her, transfixed.

It wasn’t until one day when his curiosity got the best of him and he decided to try it for himself. He pushed the protective cover upwards and marveled at the smooth ebony and ivory pieces. He pushed down the middle key with his index finger testing out the sound. He went upwards with each progressive key until the very end, where the note was so high that it wasn’t even a note. As he was going back down the way he came, he felt a gentle hand grab his wrist and bring it to the center.

“Put a different finger on each key,” his mother’s sweet lilting voice informed him in his ear as she helped him go up the keyboard.

“Now do the same thing with the left hand, only starting with your pinky this time,” she instructed.He followed along, watching in wonder as his fingers easily moved their way up the expanse.

“You’re a real natural, Kurt,” she whispered in his ear. Since then, he had gotten lessons from his mother each day, and learnt how to read the notes on the pages as well. Music was his passion and he couldn’t imagine ever not doing it.

**March 13, 2004**

He walked into his house, knowing that his dad wasn’t home. Normally, he would go to the shop and help, but he just didn’t have it in him today. Just seeing all those kids mothers at the assembly had worn him out. He knew his dad loved him and would’ve gone had he known, but Kurt didn’t want to burden him any more than he already did. He purposefully turned his head away from _that_ corner as he made his way towards the kitchen. The sight of the dusty piano was enough to bring back all the pain of why it wasn’t used anymore. He thought of the way her fingers always curved just slightly, and how she stroked the keys before she played as if they were her own children, and how those keys would reward her by giving off chiming, beautiful sounds.

He didn’t even realize that he had subconsciously made his way towards the instrument and started stroking the keys much the same way his mother used to. When he came to his senses, his breath hitched. It had been 2 years since he’d touched it, and now here he was. As if some other force was controlling him, he sat on the bench and tentatively pushed on the middle C, immediately flinching away as if burnt. When nothing happened, he hit the note again, and then more until he was going up the scale. He felt a shiver run down his spine as if he was being watched. All of a sudden, his body was overcome with warmth, something he hadn’t felt since she died. It was almost as if she was right behind him, her long auburn hair thrown over her shoulder, and her slender fingers resting on his, guiding him along as he played the only song he ever memorized. The simple one that she used to play every night as he fell asleep.

“You’re a real natural, Kurt,” he heard her whisper in his mind as the melody swept him away.

It wasn’t until he heard the lock jiggle that he stopped. He may have rediscovered his love for piano, but he had to keep it a secret. Every time his dad would hear a piano, he would be reminded of his wife and Kurt just couldn’t put him through that pain, so he came home once a week to play while he was alone. What he didn’t know was that his dad came home early that first night and sat on the porch to listen to him play, and continued to do so every week.

**January 4, 2011**

It was one of those days. Those days when the situation for why he was here really dawned on him. Today in Warbler practice, he had been rejected again. It seemed that’s how his life was, just an ever-growing chain of rejections and being second-best. When would the pain stop? He still flinched at locker slams, still had some leftover bruises on his back, and just looking in a mirror disgusted him. He couldn’t handle it. He kept on a brave face, but it was all just too much. This school may have a no-tolerance for bullying, but he wasn’t stupid. He still saw the sneering looks, still felt the cold indifference, still heard the mocking tones. He may not be afraid for his life, but the apathy hurt almost as much as getting beat up, sometimes more. At least when getting thrown into dumpsters, he knew they still gave some damn about him. Here it was like he was suffocating in an endless sea of navy and red. If he were to randomly disappear, it wouldn’t be a guarantee that someone would actually notice…or care.

He walked into the room and closed the doors. He’d found this place back before Christmas when he’d had a particularly rough day. It was completely empty aside from one lone grand piano in the far right corner. He guessed it was hardly used except for special events. He strolled over to the piano and caressed the keys gently, sliding into the padded bench. It wasn’t his mothers, but it was the closest he would get. He felt the familiar song rush over him as he played, letting himself get taken away to a faraway place. He was 7 years old again, watching as his mother would play this song, her entire body lax and her fingers on autopilot. It was then that he heard a throat clear behind him and he jumped in his seat. He put his walls up, not letting anything betray his vulnerability as he saw Wes standing at the doorway.

“Relax, Warbler Kurt,” he said, his tone surprisingly gentle, “I’m not going to make fun of you.”

“What are you doing here?” Kurt asked warily.

“I go down this hall on the way to my dorm and I heard someone playing in here. That’s all.”

“Okay,” he whispered.

“You really hate it here, don’t you?” Wes asked intuitively.

“What makes you say that?” Kurt asked defensively.

“I can see it in your body language. You’re miserable and you feel like you have to hide yourself. I guess I’m partially to blame for that.”

“Well, what can I say? The Warblers preach about how accepting they are, but don’t actually live up to it. You’re biased and you give certain people special treatment. How is that supposed to make everyone else feel?” Kurt thought he saw a flicker of anger in Wes’s eyes before it went away.

“You’re right,” Wes sighed, “I’ll try to make things more equal from here on out. Everyone is talented. It’s not fair to only showcase the same people.”

Kurt nodded curtly and walked past the senior.

“You play beautifully, by the way,” Wes said behind him.Kurt paused and tried not to let the bitterness overtake him. The compliment was lovely, but it just wasn’t the same.

“Thank you,” he responded quietly, not meeting the other boy’s eye as he took on a brisker pace.

**May 1, 2013**

His first semester of NYADA was almost finished. These past few weeks had been crazy and confusing, what with his dad and Finn that just getting through the day was a challenge. If he hadn’t been so selfish and gone to NY, none of this would’ve ever happened. His dad would’ve never gotten cancer and Finn would still be alive. He truly was despicable. It should’ve been him. It should’ve always been him from the very beginning. His dad would’ve had less pressure if he’d never been born. His wife would still be alive, he wouldn’t have to deal with a gay son, and everything would just be easier. He started playing the old Apples piano, releasing all his pain into his fingers, and feeling all the pressure lift off his shoulders. He knew it would be back when he was done. He knew it would take much more than a song to make the pain go away, but for now, this was perfect. His finger slipped and he ended up doing a flutter thing that wasn’t previously there. His breath hitched and he stopped, covering up his mouth. He had never messed it up before. How did this happen? How come he could never get anything right?

“Why did you stop?” he heard a voice behind him, the accent thick. He couldn’t bear to answer, so he just sat there frozen, letting the tears fall, hoping they would get the message. Even though they didn’t make a sound, he knew they were still there, so he choked out,

“I messed up.”

“I didn’t notice,” the figure said as they walked into the light from the stage.

“Of course you didn’t,” Kurt said bitterly, “No one ever does. But I do.” Adam scrunched his brow.

“Why do I have a feeling we’re talking about more than just a song?”

“Because you try to find deeper meanings in things that aren’t there,” Kurt retorted. Adam raised his eyebrows, but thankfully decided not to pry further.

“Alright then, let’s talk about the song. So you messed up. It’s not the end of the world.”

“You don’t get it!” Kurt huffed, “I have never messed up before. I have always been able to play it perfectly. And now, all of a sudden, I can’t.”

“Are you sure about that?” Adam asked. “Try it now.” Kurt did as he was asked, and tried playing the song, and his fingers stumbled on the 2nd measure.

“See?” he groaned, “I can’t even get it right now.”

“That’s because you’re trying too hard,” Adam said gently, raising Kurt’s eyes to meet his own. “You’re so focused on that one mess-up now that you’re letting it stress you out. You’re never going to be able to play it properly if you do that. You need to relax.”

“But I got it wrong,” Kurt mumbled.

“That’s what _you_ heard. Want to know what I heard? Beautiful music.”

“Even though I messed up?”

 _“Because_ you messed up. Perfection isn’t beautiful, Kurt, it’s just boring. True beauty is _unique, imperfect,_ and _complex._ Much like that song. Try it again, only this time don’t stop if you mess up. Just keep going.”

Kurt let the music wash over him again, jarred out of his trance every time he hit a wrong note, and willing himself not to stop under Adam’s gaze, although he couldn’t control the tears from rolling down his cheeks at the thought of having to butcher his mother’s song. By the time it was over, he was too exhausted to even wipe off the wetness from his face. He didn’t want to look at the other man because he knew the kind of judgement that would be there. Like everyone else, Adam would deem him not good enough and walk away. He couldn’t take the silence anymore, so he just whispered harshly,

“Go ahead, you can say it.”

 _“You’re a real natural, Kurt.”_ He heard his mom whisper. He must have missed the actual response so he asked Adam to repeat himself. He saw that Adam didn’t look disgusted, but was looking at him with awe, wonder, and a bit of tenderness.

“What did you say?” he asked in disbelief. Adam chuckled fondly,

“I said, you’re a real natural, Kurt.” He smiled, but it wasn’t the older man that Kurt saw. He also saw a pale silhouette of a young woman with auburn hair standing right next to him, smiling as well.

He felt the tears come again, but they weren’t of sadness this time.

**November 9, 2019**

He stepped onto the elegant stage. The lights brightened, and while that would seem like a pressure to someone else, it was a relief for him. He couldn’t see their faces now. He could pretend like he was alone just like all those times in the past. He could just barely make out the face of his fiancé in the front row looking at him with all the pride in the world. He sat down in the seat, and played, only this time, it was his own version. It was still the original, just with a few different alterations and nuances that made it uniquely his. When the audience stood up and cheered, he just watched them in shock and the emotional rush didn’t come until he saw her silhouette in the front row right next to his fiancé and his dad, not moving or clapping, but just standing there beaming.

 _“I was right,”_ he heard her say as she faded, _“You really are a natural, Kurt.”_

**Author's Note:**

> There aren't enough Kurt-centric fics in this world. It's tragic.


End file.
